


it's getting colder and you're growing distant

by trishapocalypse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, fluff and cute things, idk it's just an adorable little thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry whisks Zayn away on an impromptu holiday, but things don't go exactly as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's getting colder and you're growing distant

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiii this is for my darling Frida. :) It's just a short cute little fluffy thing for her! (This is also, like, the first thing I've written without porn. So, it's different for me.) It's not the best, darling, but I hope you like it! (And I hope the rest of you like it as well, obviously.) As always, hastily beta'd and this never happened. I also know nothing about the Alps or weather in general, so mark everything up to creative freedom, I suppose. Enjoy..... :)

Zayn had many wonderful qualities and Harry knew this. After all, they had been together for almost two years. And, really, Zayn was wonderful. He was funny and easy-going, a little bit of a try-hard when he _still_ wanted to impress Harry (which he insisted was completely unnecessary because they were _already together,_ as Harry pointed out multiple times), but he had a big heart and a bigger smile, and he loved Harry without abandon. 

And Harry was lucky, he knew that, because Harry had flaws, he was a little too laid back on some days and a little too much of a planner on others, unable to find a comfortable balance between spontaneity and having a schedule; he hated doing laundry and the dishes even though he insisted on cooking almost every meal and he took to wearing the same outfit at least three times a week, but. He also had his good qualities, he supposed, because he tended to spoil Zayn a little _too_ much, bring him breakfast in bed nearly every day, and constantly told him how handsome he was, how much he loved him.

(Harry was just a sap, and Zayn often pretended that he was annoyed with it, but he wasn’t.)

But, well, Zayn had flaws, too. Not many, Harry would argue, but he had _some_ because there was no way a man _that gorgeous_ was without flaw, it just wouldn’t have been fair. Zayn had the tendency to smoke a little too much, shut out the world when he was in a bad mood because he couldn’t finish a sketch or a painting just didn’t _look right;_ he drank a little too much coffee before a deadline and snapped at Harry for the stupidest reasons, especially when Harry was only trying to help. (But he always made it up to him, soft kisses and back massages and washing Harry’s hair always helped.) 

But Zayn’s biggest flaw, which was arguably not even a flaw in the first place, was the fact that he did not _do_ mornings. And by morning, that meant anything before ten am (eleven, if he could swing it, but he usually couldn’t). If Harry woke him up early, not even the promise of tea or coffee or pancakes or a blow job could change Zayn’s mood, and Harry would be stuck with a very put out and sulking Zayn for the rest of the day. 

Harry thought that he would be different on vacation, but he wasn’t. It was one of those spur of the moment weekend trips Harry was fond of planning, hoping to celebrate with a weekend away to the Alps since Zayn’s latest project was completed and he could relax for a couple of days. But it didn’t exactly go as planned, because the trip was spontaneous and Harry did absolutely no research. They were almost late for the plane, one of their bags got lost along the way, and the five-star hotel Harry was sure he booked was a little bit more of a run-down mom-and-pop bed and breakfast high up on the mountain that looked about a hundred years old. 

The first day was spent in the hot tub off the side of their room, complete with Zayn complaining about catching a cold and Harry trying to warm him up and get him to relax. (Zayn was complete shit at relaxing, always thinking about his next project and deadline, and normally Harry was okay with it—but they were on _vacation_ and Zayn just didn’t _get it._ ) The room service was questionable at best, and Zayn mused the entire time that _not even Niall would eat this, Harry, it’s disgusting—and the lad eats **everything**_ but the bed was big and warm, complete with multiple blankets and enough pillows that the pair could build a fort out of if they wanted. (Harry did want to, but Zayn shot the idea down with a frown, resolutely ignoring Harry’s pout.)

The second day, Harry woke up early, showering and waking Zayn up with a blowjob that _should’ve_ put him in a good mood, but it actually didn’t. Zayn ran his fingers through his hair with a groan as Harry tossed some clothes at him, insisting that he get dressed so they could eat breakfast before they went skiing. 

“Skiing, Harry? Tell me you’re joking,” Zayn grumbled, pulling on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve white shirt.

“It’ll be fun! You can snowboard, if you want. I’ve already checked it out.”

“I don’t snowboard.”

“You skateboard.”

“It’s different,” Zayn insisted.

“Not that much. And you’ve always said you wanted to try it,” Harry told him.

Zayn sighed.

“If you don’t want to go, we don’t have to,” Harry said quietly with a shrug. “I just thought it’d be fun since we’re only here for another day—“

“You’re right,” Zayn interrupted quickly, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek, anything to wipe the sad look off of his face. “Snowboarding sounds great.”

Harry smiled softly, his dimple barely showing. “Yeah?”

Zayn nodded with a smile of his own because making Harry smile, well, that was probably his greatest accomplishment—not his paintings, his photographs, his sketches, or the fact that socialites all over London had his artwork in their flats, no. It was still being able to light up Harry’s face in that ridiculous way after two years, it was the way that Harry laced their fingers together, leaning in for another kiss before humming against Zayn’s lips, completely content. “Though if I get frostbite, you’ll be the one nursing me back to health,” he told him.

Harry laughed. “I will. I promise.”

And while Harry claimed to have planned their whole day, from skiing and snowboarding to the late lunch they were going to have while soaking in the hot tub, he didn’t exactly plan anything. By the time they reached the top of the ski lift, Zayn was muttering that something was _wrong_ because the ski left had been so empty—

“Zayn, nothing’s _wrong,_ it’s just early and people are still sleeping,” Harry insisted. “It’s fine. We’ll rent our gear and—“

“Will we?” Zayn asked, deadpanned as they walked up towards the little building with a sign indicating that skiing and snowboarding rental was closed due to the oncoming storm. Zayn rolled his eyes and snorted. “Oncoming storm, really?”

“Maybe they’re trying to be funny. You know, like that Superman villain,” Harry said with a shrug.

“Bane?”

“Sure.”

“He’s in Batman,” Zayn told him.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it—“ he cut himself off with a shake of his head because, no, arguing with Harry didn’t matter, and he didn’t want to do it. 

“So rentals are closed, there’s a storm coming, and there’s no way for us to get down the mountain.”

“Astute observation, Harry—“

“Don’t be mean,” Harry told him. 

“Did you even bother to look up the weather before you dragged me out of bed this morning?” Zayn asked, and he tried not to sound spiteful, but he failed.

Harry frowned. “I thought, like, snow wasn’t a bad thing, you know? It snows in the mountains, that’s—that’s normal,” he said, his eyes wide and apologetic.

Zayn instantly wanted to slap himself, multiple times, because he never wanted to put that look on Harry’s face. Really and truly, he would physically hurt someone who ever made his boyfriend sad, but here he was, doing it himself, and he was such an arse. “It’s alright, Haz,” he told him softly. “Let’s just find a way to get back, yeah?”

“It’ll take forever to walk down, especially if it starts snowing,” Harry said, peering into the window of the building before walking around it and finding a door.

“What are you doing?”

“Help me break the lock.”

Zayn frowned. “I’m not breaking the lock, Harry.”

Harry sighed. “Zayn, we won’t be able to make it back to the hotel in time, okay? The storm won’t last all day. Help me break this so we can wait inside, okay?”

Zayn had let Harry talk him into an absurd amount of things throughout the course of their relationship, but breaking and entering was definitely new. However they were both able to bust the lock on the door and get inside right as it started snowing. Zayn closed the door, pushing a chair over towards it to hook underneath the handle so the wind wouldn’t blow it open. “What now?”

“We wait, I guess,” Harry said with a shrug. He whipped off his gloves and tossed them aside, pulling out his mobile and checking the weather.

“Do you even have service?”

“For now. Don’t jinx it.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. 

“The storm shouldn’t last long, an hour or two at most. I’ll call the hotel and let them know we’re stuck up here,” Harry told him.

Zayn nodded, wrapping his arms around his waist and wishing that he had put on more layers before allowing Harry to drag him out of the hotel room. He briefly heard Harry explaining their situation to the hotel before hanging up with a sigh and shoving his mobile back into his pocket. “Well?”

“We’re stuck here for at least an hour. The manager said the storms usually don’t last long and that they’ll send someone up the minute it stops,” Harry told him. 

“Okay,” Zayn said, trying to ignore the way his teeth were chattering in the cold. And, okay, he really wasn’t built for snow or anything cold, and he definitely should’ve put on an extra jumper. 

“Here,” Harry said, unzipping his North Face jacket and sliding it around Zayn’s shoulders. He knew his boyfriend, and Zayn would never ask for help regarding anything, and he also didn’t know how to dress for the weather, often times wearing a leather jacket in the middle of the summer and not much more than that in the winter months. 

“No, you’ll get cold, Harry,” Zayn insisted, reaching up to peel the jacket off, but Harry’s hands stopped him.

“Just wear it, I’ll be fine. I’m wearing, like, fifteen layers right now,” he said with a smile.

Zayn frowned but shrunk into the jacket anyway, savoring the warmth and willing his teeth to stop chattering. He was horrible at keeping track of time, just watching the snowfall outside the small window, piling up around them. “Next impromptu holiday, Hazza, we go somewhere warm,” he muttered. 

“Italy it is,” Harry agreed.

“Why didn’t we go there instead?”

Harry shrugged. “Wanted to do something different, wanted to surprise you,” he said, his teeth chattering and he reached up to pull his beanie further down past his ears. “I’m sorry this holiday sucks.”

“It doesn’t suck,” Zayn told him weakly because, yeah, it kind of _did_ suck. But Harry had tried, tried really hard to make it special, and Zayn was ruining it with a shit attitude and being mad about the _weather,_ something that Harry had absolutely no control over. 

“It does. And I’ll make you soup and hot chocolate for the next eighty years to make up for this horrible holiday,” Harry promised, rubbing at the tip of his nose.

“You wear the jacket for a bit,” Zayn told him, tugging it off of his shoulders.

“No,” Harry said stubbornly, shaking his head. “You’re wearing two layers—you need it more.”

“No, I want my boyfriend to be alive when we get out of here—“

“So do I—“

“Take the bloody jacket, Harry,” Zayn snapped. 

Harry shook his head. “No. You deserve the jacket.”

“It’s a _jacket_.”

“I’m not taking it back.”

Zayn sighed and threw the jacket over Harry’s shoulders before reaching for his waist and pressing their bodies closer together. 

“Zayn—“

“Hazza, share the bloody jacket with me,” he told him, his voice soft as he wrapped his arms tightly around Harry’s waist, dipping his hands under the back of his shirt.

Harry nodded, pulling on his gloves and holding Zayn as close as he could, pressing his face against the side of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Zayn told him, pulling away long enough to catch Harry’s lips with his own. And hew as warmer then, just being close to Harry, lazily kissing him in the middle of the mountains, and fuck—cliché, cliché, cliché, but Zayn couldn’t even bring himself to care. 

“Sorry.”

And it was two hours later when they finally stumbled into their hotel room, shedding layers and both climbing into the shower, holding onto one another as they finally started to feel their limbs again. Harry held onto Zayn tightly, pressing their lips together underneath the hot spray of the shower, as his boyfriend washed his hair. And they spent the rest of their holiday curled under the warm hotel sheets, the long line of their bodies pressed together.

“I know you don’t want me to say it, but I am sorry,” Harry whispered against Zayn’s neck.

Zayn smiled. “Don’t be. It wasn’t a total disaster.”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing is that horrible, not when I’m with you,” Zayn told him.

Harry smiled, tucking his head further under Zayn’s chin, because even if Zayn was lying, at least it would be a fun story to tell their friends when they got back.


End file.
